Pretend it isn't true
by mariposa241
Summary: It all starts with a vacation after my college graduation to the place where I'd gone with my family as a child; it continues when I meet and then leave the man of my dreams; but it doesn't end with us never seeing one another again.
1. Chapter 1

"You've NEVER worn a bikini?! We need to get you to the mall stat, girl!" my friend Deanna exclaims.

"You don't know my mother…I never had shorts shorter than Bermudas or any sleeveless shirts until I was in college and my aunt took me shopping for normal shorts and tank tops."

"I am so sorry, that sounds awful," she gushes. "I don't know what I would have done with myself!"

I brush it off. "No time like the present to start, right? It's just another thing I won't write home about."

"Seriously, though, we have to go shopping before we leave Saturday for your belated highschool senior week-I can't believe you didn't do that either! What was up with your childhood?"

"Come on, I respect how my parents raised me, conservative and all, but I am my own person now and I intend to take advantage of that this week. I promise."

"Want to go right now?"

"I don't have anything going on the rest of today, so why not?"

She grabs her keys and we set off towards the nearest mall.

"I am more excited than I should be for next week, Dean," I confess as we drive.

"Girl, you are going to have such a good time, and you have to look the part."

"I've had this crazy imagined scenario since I was younger, that summer beach romance that seems to happen in silly stories and movies, and this week just seems one step closer to that for me. Isn't that just too cliché?" I want to get this off my chest while we're on the subject of my lack of teenage summer fun. "Probably just too much High School Musical or whatnot."

"You never know, Katrin, it might happen," she says with a smile. "But I have to warn you: don't expect Troy Bolton to be there. Regardless, we are going to have an amazing time."

Deanna's best recommendation for swimsuit shopping is Macy's. It's peak summer fashion season so I have my choice of every color and style. After a few try-ons and glances in the mirror, I settle on a navy and white striped suit that's a wide-strap v-neck halter top with your typical navy bottoms, and a teal bandeau with ruffle boy-short bottoms.

"If you're happy, I'm happy," Deanna encourages as I come out of the dressing room with my purchases. "Do you need anything else while we're here?"

"I'd never say no to a look around."

We browse and I notice that maxi dresses seem to be really popular this season. I don't like them much, but an orange short sundress with a big flower on the skirt catches my eye. "I think I need this too," I say very seriously.

"I agree!" she says. "Very you." Deanna is great to shop with because she tells me if anything looks bad on me, but if I like something that looks good, she knows our tastes are different and defers to my personal style.

"And it has pockets?" I discover as I choose it in my size. "Sold!"

"Don't tell my mother!" I say in jest as we return to the car. "Although she'll find out when my dad shows her the Facebook pictures. That was the condition of me getting Facebook way back when I was 18, that I had to friend him."

"You were 18 when you got Facebook?" says Deanna. "At this point I'm not even surprised."

A group of six of us, both guys and girls, are going to the beach for a week as newly minted "real people." We'll be deferring thoughts of the rest of our lives after college for one more week. I was on the fence about coming along, but Deanna convinced me that since I know and trust the people we're going with, they won't make me do anything I'm not comfortable with; after that, I was a pushover.

We start out early on Saturday for our several-hour drive. Deanna is driving me and Michelle, another friend from our part of the country. We've rented a beach house in North Carolina, and I contribute my part from a "travel fund" my aunt had set aside for me when I was young to use when I was older. "That's so sweet!" says Michelle as I relate the story, one of many anecdotes we've been sharing on the car ride.

"And this is the aunt that bought you short-shorts?" Deanna asks.

"Yup, she balanced out Mother and Dad a bit."

Deanna relates our bikini-shopping outing and exaggerates my lifestyle as a young person.

"Your parents are really sweet," commiserates Michelle, who met them when we were moving in and out of the dorm room we'd shared sophomore year, "but I can see that a little."

My father and his parents immigrated to the US from Germany when he was young and my mother came here from Germany as a young adult, and though I consider myself American, I feel a strong connection to my German heritage and have many relatives there. My parents are a little old-fashioned, it's true, and it's been a long process to forge out on my own, but I love them dearly and my friends all know that (and think it's just darling.)


	2. Chapter 2

There manage to be enough beds, futons, and room for air mattresses in the house so that we can all fit comfortably. I am looking forwards to reading something that's not textbooks or technical journal articles, walking along the beach, and watching movies. It's about time for a week of doing nothing. We unpack, reunite with the boys (who got a little misdirected somewhere in South Carolina) and order in pizza. Before long, we crash after a day of travel

I like to walk on the beach in the morning just after sunrise, before hardly anyone is out except some joggers and a few retired couples. That's why on Sunday morning I cross the street to the nearby beach entrance, and when I see the ocean for the first of many times this week, I take a deep breath of the seashore air. It takes me back to beach vacations when I was young and we'd have a family reunion when my aunts, uncles, and cousins on my father's side would come and stay in a few large beach houses. We'd come to this same beach. But that was before the oldest cousins went off to college and my grandparents got too old to travel. Now several of us are married, a couple have kids, and our grandparents have passed away, but occasionally on #tbt someone will post beach pictures of us together lined up by height, displaying a favorite seashell, or burying a good-sport grownup in the sand (usually uncle Erik).

I love watching the birds scurry back and forth, tracing the edge of the waves. They scatter when I come just too near. I can't help but feel like a little kid when I come across a flock of seagulls and race towards them to chase them all away. After I reach the ruins of a pier that marks about a mile from where I started, I think about turning around as I lean against a tall piling. There are three more weeks before I start my job at a biotech company in the Northeast and the reality hasn't yet set in. Pushing those thoughts off until next week, I look at the sparkling of the water and the shadow of the pier, imagining how my brother, a photographer, would see this as an artistic moment. I simply see it as a chance to be as immature I want before people start to arrive and I feel self-conscious. I take off the beach dress I'm wearing and put it by the piling, folding my eyeglasses carefully inside. I run into the water up to my waist and then, at the place where the depth goes from knee deep to shoulder height all of a sudden, glide out onto my back and float there for a few seconds. Swimming lessons were never successful at teaching me to float for any length of time, so I lazily tread water for a little while. The current has pushed me away from the pier rather quickly, so I slowly swim back and duck my head under the water to wet my hair. By this time I feel like heading back to get ready for a day in a chair with a book, listening to music, chatting with friends-or more likely, all three.

I walk out of the water, glad the pier piling I left my dress next to is distinctive enough that I can make it out without my much-needed glasses. Suddenly, I realize that there is a person standing right where I put my things. Looking at me. Darn. As I approach, hoping the person's only just passing by and we'll nod or exchange "good morning," my expectations are dashed when I see he is comfortably leaning against the piling.

"Good morning," he says, with a, dare I say, enchanting British accent.

"Good morning," I return, determining the best way to access my things which he's standing exactly overtop of.

"Excuse me," I say, gesturing to my dress, "this is just mine here."

He bends down, "Let me get that for you."

"Oh, careful, my glasses are in there!" I warn, and when he holds my glasses in one hand and the dress in the other out to me, I thank him. Since I'm quite wet I decide not to put the dress back on and instead unfold my glasses. He's still standing there and so I make a bit of awkward conversation. "You an early bird too?" I ask.

"Nope, jet lag. Just got in yesterday and haven't made the time zone adjustment yet."

I look up, my sight restored, and see that he is tall, smiling, and quite handsome.

"I'm here on holiday with some American friends, and they're all still sleeping." After a pause, he asks (conveniently because I feel rather tongue-tied), "Which way are you headed?"

I gesture, "South."

"Me too," he replies, "do you mind if I walk along with you?"

"No, um, that's fine."

I take the side closer to the water and wade in up to my mid-calf. "I used to come here as a little kid but I haven't been in ages," I say. He is wading where it's about up to his ankles, and I turn that direction, realizing I haven't introduced myself. "I'm Katrin, by the way."

He nods, "Dan." We walk along in silence for a short while, and I glance over. He seems perfectly happy and carefree and the look on his face captures everything I feel too. Liberated. Excited. Content.

"So you've been here before, then. I like it so far." he says. "It got good reviews from my American friends and I couldn't say no when they asked me along."

"This place is my favorite vacation in the world. We had family reunions here with my cousins and grandparents when I was in grade school; most of the ones from America came and a couple from Germany too."

"Are you German?" he asks.

"First generation American," I reply, "but when we all got together on vacation it felt like a trip over there. I haven't been in a while," I muse, "since the summer before college, because I've had jobs and internships every summer and only a week off here and there."

"Your name is really pretty; I thought it might be German. Katrin-did I say it right?"

"That's it. I like how it sounds with your accent," I say.

Darn. I knew this would happen. I suddenly come to the full realization that I am wearing my new bathing suit, the navy and white one, and I feel self-conscious. It was one thing trying it one-it's quite another to have it damp and sticking to me while walking with a stranger. A cute, male stranger, at that. Oh well, the perils of being a girl at the beach.

I decide that there's nothing to lose by continuing the conversation, and I start relating my thoughts out loud, mostly so that there's not an awkward silence. I talk about my German grandparents and my favorite vacation memories of playing miniature golf, watching cheesy horror movies, and chatting incessantly with my cousins about their favorite music and pop culture icons on family vacation. He looks content to listen to me, but when I realize I've been going on for quite a while, I pause and apologize, "Sorry if I'm talking your ear off, I'm just in a nostalgic mood."

"No, your family sounds really cool. I haven't done any reunion things or big vacations with my extended family, but it sounds like a great time. What brings you back?"

"I'm with some college friends celebrating our graduation," I answer, "and I'm making up for the high school senior week I never had."

He nods. "Congratulations on graduation."

"Thanks. Now off into the working world," I sigh, "but not for one more week."

He asks where I went and what I studied, and I answer briefly as we're nearing the place where I left my shoes. "This is my stop," I say.

"Me too. I was hoping I'd meet the owner of these shoes," he says as we collect our sandals from the end of the wooden stairs over the dunes. They're my One Direction flip-flops that a friend bought for me as a funny gift.

Thinking British-music-boys I make the connection that I've seen Dan before. "BBC radio, I think I recognize you from Radio One!" I say, pointing at him.

"Yes," he returns with the same first finger gesture.

"I saw the Rather Be music video," I explain.

He covers his eyes with his hand. "That was awful. I can't believe it got as big as it did."

"Don't exaggerate, it was fine," I console. I almost say 'you're better in person' but stop myself, just close of 'better without a shirt on' and cementing my mortification.

"It was just a few seconds in that clip, you have a good memory. Say, how's your memory for numbers?"

"Typical working memory is six or so units for a short time and I think I've got about seven, but if I make a picture or they line up with something mathematical or historical, I can probably get twelve and they stick around for a while if I rehearse."

Dan looks a little smug, and I can't imagine why, but he starts reciting numbers and I listen carefully. I decide to go with a bar graph and see the first three numbers rising to the next numbers' peak and a bell curve distribution for the final ones. "Say it again," I prompt, and solidify the picture.

I close my eyes, repeat it back, and when I open my eyes I notice he's smiling and shaking his head. "What?" I ask.

"That's my phone number."

Oops. I am overthinking this sufficiently enough to be completely oblivious to the fact he's, well, I don't know what to call it, being flirty or something? "Oh. I'm a scientist?" I offer with a question mark as explanation.


	3. Chapter 3

I enter the number into my phone as soon as I get back to where I left it on the living room table, not wanting to forget it accidentally. Will I send him a text message? I don't know. This is a foray into rather unknown territory for me.

The rest of the day consists of me making the big trip to the grocery as the unofficial "mom" in our group of friends, going in the ocean again with most of the guys who are with us (apparently there's too much seaweed and little jellyfish in the water for the other girls), and starting my first book of the four I've brought along.

As it nears 10pm and my friends are choosing a movie to watch, I remember the phone number burning a hole in my pocket. I still have it memorized, and I enter it and stare at the blank text box.

"Will I see you tomorrow same time?" I decide to send after a few moments.

I turn my phone on silent and take it to another room, not wanting to be tempted to continually check it, and join the movie. Halfway through, I, who have been up since half seven, decide to turn in and say goodnight to everyone else.

As I go to set my alarm for the next morning, I get butterflies when I see I have a new message. "i will be there :)" it reads.

Next morning I don the one-piece swimsuit equivalent of a little black dress and a wrap skirt and cross the street to the beach entrance. It's a little chillier than it was the morning before, and I wish I'd brought a jacket but I consider that it will be fine as soon as the sun rises a little higher.

Dan is wearing a long-sleeve surfer type shirt and the same board shorts as before.

When I approach, my greeting is, "Do you surf?"

His is, "Hi, and no, I stole this from a friend. I didn't think a leather jacket was appropriate beachwear."

"Probably not," I corroborate. "Let's go the other way today."

As we walk along where the waves had just been before the tide receded, I point out the little bird footprints. "They're such cute little guys," I say. "I wonder what exactly they find to eat in the sand. There are," I say, remembering something else we did as kids on the beach, "other creatures a little deeper down, but they wouldn't eat those."

"What sort of creatures?" Dan says, and I realize that 'creatures' is probably not a grownup word to use, but he sounds so excited saying it.

"Well, there are little triangle clam things that are about this big," I say, making a half-inch measure, "and some other thing, I think it was called a mole crab, that can be that size or up to maybe an inch and a half, that, oh, I can't think of how to describe it. This is weird, but can I look for some and show you?"

"That's not weird, sea creatures are pretty awesome."

I kneel down at the place where the waves leave about a constant inch or half-inch of water and make a hole with my hands. Dan does the same, but I find the first ones."

"This," I say, "is the clam sort of thing. My mother would be upset that I don't know what to call it, she loves animals and their scientific names." The one I hold out in my hand is light purple. "If you look close you can see its foot and its siphon," I say, ever the biologist even though I don't remember the thing's Latin name.

Dan comes close and looks at it. He touches it and says, "So like a living seashell."

I put it back into the shallow water and it burrows down quickly. A few grains of sand cover the top and it is effectively out of sight. "They come in all sorts of colors and patterns," I add. "Did you find any?"

"No, but now I guess I know what to look for."

I move about a yard away and make another hole. Next I find the other thing I couldn't describe. It is a larval-looking crustacean with a hard shell and many legs. The one I find is one of the bigger ones, but right next to it is a couple of small ones. Taking two handfuls of wet sand and water and mole crabs, I walk over to Dan. "Put out your hands."

He complies and I dump what's in my hand into his.

"What the…" he says after a few seconds, and I know he is feeling the creatures burrowing down in the handful of sand and touching his palm. I mix around the sand and bring the crab to the surface. "This is that other thing."

"That is creepy. And cool. But that startled me."

"You can put them back down." He rinses off his hands in the water and the creatures scurry around and promptly burrow.

"I think I got a bunch of seashell things here," he motions to his hole, but it's been filled in by the intervening waves. He starts again, and sure enough, there are several orange and white and purple little clams. "And there's a creepy thing," he adds.

I put my hand in and scoop it out. My hand brushes his as I reach across the hole and it startles me, probably like the handful of sand and burrowing crabs did to him, and I feel the little thing trying to dig through my own hand. "It's not creepy, I like how it tickles." It is a little absurd how we are two adults, digging holes in the sand and playing with crabs and seashells, but I wouldn't have it any other way. This is why I love the beach, still after all these years: people of all ages can act like children and it's more or less acceptable.

Dipping my hands into the water, I release this one and it scurries away. The water is colder this morning and there's a bit of a breeze so with my wet skirt it feels chilly.

Dan stands up and asks, "Are you cold?"

"A little," I answer, "but I'll be fine." He takes off his shirt and offers it to me. "Thanks, and thanks to your friend, too," I reply, putting it on.

We continue walking south.

"What did you do yesterday?" I ask.

"Our house has a pool, so we all hung out there for most of the day, and then the little kids went to bed and my friends and their parents had a couple drinks, so that was the evening, and naturally they're all still asleep again except the kids and whoever was unlucky enough to be on parent-duty."

I describe the book I started reading, a science nonfiction narrative on the development of antibiotics post-World War I.

"Really?" he asks. "Is that actually your beach reading?"

"Nope, no romance novels for me! Some of my friends teased me about my light reading yesterday, but it's what I like."

"I get that. I should read more, but I spend time on the computer and video games instead."

"If it's what you like, that's the best thing to do. Life is too short to read something you can't stand because you feel like you ought to."

"Could have told that to some teachers I've had," he mutters lightheartedly.

By this time we've reached a pier and I can see a few fishers above us at the end of the pier. Gulls are circling overhead; someone must have just caught a tasty fish.

"This is the best," I say softly. "I love the beach in the morning, it's so peaceful and clean." I turn to Dan. "I'm glad we met too. You're cool."

As I move to continue walking, I feel a touch on my hand but before I realize what it is, I instinctively pull away.

"Oh, sorry," he says.

"Was that on purpose, wait, it's okay." I mumble, and stopping I turn and offer my hand. He takes it and puts his fingers in between mine. His hand is warm, sandy, and feels just right. It feels like I'm dreaming as we walk under the pier and return to the water's edge. "You're cool too." he says.

"Tell me what it's like being on the radio," I say, turning us the way we came, as the moment is getting a little too intense for my liking. He relates how he does a weekly show and gets the chance to go to events fairly often too. It sounds like an exciting life, and I get the feeling he's more famous than he lets on. "And I do YouTube too," he adds, "that's how it all got started. I talk about my life, the things I do and what happens to me, and how much of a fail I am and hope people can relate and laugh with me."

"You don't sound like a fail," I say sincerely.

"I didn't finish university, I embarrass myself in every socially awkward way imaginable, and I am basically the archetypical nerd."

"It sounds like you have a great career and you love it. That's what counts."

"I tell myself that a lot. I think this year it's really started to feel true, though. If you haven't seen my videos, then I won't feel like I'm repeating myself, so let me give you a couple examples." He talks about an odd winking habit he got into and demonstrates (I melt a little, well, more than a little inside but I play along) and then some unfortunate circumstances on public transportation.

"I have my fair share of stories like that," I say, "really, you're not alone. It is funny the way you describe it though." I swing his hand while we walk. "I visited England once, when I was twelve or so. Other than passing through the airport, that is. My parents extended one of our trips to see family and we did the touristy things. I don't remember as much as I wish I did, but my favorite part was driving through the countryside. My mother decided she could rent a car and drive on the wrong side of the road and manage the manual transmission, and she did all of that and only stalled out once or twice. We stayed at cute B & B's in little villages, it was great. I loved London too, especially the castles and palaces."

"My favorite thing about London is a feeling: when you realize you are so small being around so many people and buildings and everything going on, but you feel more alive than ever at the same time."

"I know what you mean."

By this time, we've reached the stairs.

He takes my other hand so I am facing him. "I know we probably won't see each other again after this week," he says softly, "but can we pretend it's not true?"

"Yes," I whisper. I must be dreaming, this is everything I'd wished for and more.

He gently lets go of my hands and starts up the stairs. "We have a volleyball net I think some of us were going to set up today. If you want you can come and play with us, and bring any of your friends you want, too."

"Thanks, we'll probably be out almost all day. It's going to be such a pretty beach day."

I wave as I go up onto our porch and he returns the wave.

As I come in the rear door, Michelle greets me with "I saw you with some guy out there. Whatcha doing?" in a kind but nosy tone. Busted.

"Well, we met on my walk and we were chatting," I say.

"Chatting. Yup." Thankfully she doesn't press the issue.

Everyone is kind of congregating in the kitchen over breakfast when I return. "Hey guys," I greet. "There's a group of people next door who invited us to play volleyball today on the beach when they set it up."

"I'm awful at volleyball," says Deanna, "I always end up getting hurt. But I'll spectate." she says. The rest of them seem game. In an hour, we head to the beach with our things for the day and see the other group, which turns out to be a family with parents, a few twenty-something adult children/spouses, and a pair of grandchildren.

In the midafternoon, volleyball happens and no injuries are sustained-even though Deanna is somehow convinced to play. Dan is not particularly skilled at the game, but his height is an advantage and he makes some good shots. As for me, all I remember from middle school gym class volleyball session is how to serve, so I make the best of my turns near the net and surprise everyone with this hidden talent when it's my turn in the back corner. Eventually my team is defeated (or at least that's the consensus after adding in a few forgotten points) and we part ways with the family next door.

"Hey Katrin," Dan calls as I was turning to go with the rest of my group. "Want to go to dinner tonight?"

"Okay," I say. "I'd love to."

"You'll have to pick the place; I have no idea what's good."

I choose a family type restaurant known for great seafood right away. "See you at seven?" I ask. "I can drive, if you want."

"I, unlike your mum, probably will not adapt well to driving on the wrong side of the road," he confesses. "I'll probably just freak out being in the driving side without a steering wheel."


	4. Chapter 4

"Dean, can I borrow your car?" I say, entering the kitchen at about ten to seven where it's her and Joseph's turn to make dinner.

"Where are you going?" she asks. "And I mean yes, go ahead. But dinner's almost ready."

"I'm going out to dinner actually," I say.

"Oooh, was it the boy next door you were talking to earlier? Katrin!"

"Maybe," I say evasively, "all right, yes."

"Have fun, girl," she says, "but in all seriousness, remember you are an adult and don't get burned. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"You know you don't have to worry about me being careful," I say, "I don't even turn right on red, but thanks. I know."

"And looking good tonight, too!"

I smile as I leave the kitchen. "Bye," Joe says. He's a kind guy but very stingy with words (when sober).

I am wearing my Macy's orange sundress and white sandals. Fortunately Deanna's car isn't boxed in by anyone else's and I clear out a few maps and water bottles from the front passenger seat.

"Hello," I hear from very close behind me, and I jump and let out a little squeak. Dan had come over without my notice (granted, I'm so oblivious it's my own fault I'm easy to startle) and when I turn around he is so close that we are almost touching.

"You…" I say.

"Me what?" He asks playfully. "You're the one in my seat."

I give him a playful push on the chest. He is wearing a black Oxford with the sleeves rolled up. He has a little sunburn on the tops of his cheeks and his nose, and looks so happy it's irresistible.

"Get in, Dan," I say with a smile.

I back the car out of the driveway and turn us out onto the main road.

Dinner is amazing. Not only is the food excellent, my company is bar none. It turns out Dan hates fish, so he gets a meat dish, while I get the fresh-caught local specialty.

I talk about my college experience, and my decision to study in the States even though I could have (and my siblings had) gone to university in Germany. "I think it was for the best," I conclude. "I needed to take my own path and not do what they did just because it was what they did."

He talks about his predictions for the future of media and the entertainment industry. "It has to be interactive and it has to be accessible," he says. "I love being right in the middle of everything and seeing it all happen."

We talk about the friends we're here with at the beach and how we love them all, but we both feel like the odd one out sometimes in the group. We talk about personality types and whether they really mean much over a lifetime. We even talk about our favorite stuffed toys, his being a totoro and mine being a green Android mascot.

As we leave the restaurant, I see that it will be a beautiful sunset with not a cloud in the sky.

"There's a national park really nearby where it's great to see the sunset. Can I show you that?" I ask.

"Of course, lead the way," he responds.

This isn't an ordinary park; it is in fact home to the largest sand dunes I've ever seen. As a young child they were other-worldly. I don't tell Dan though; I want to see his reaction as he sees it for the first time.

As we round the corner to the parking area, I watch his face. "What? This is like a desert or something," he gasps. "Are we still on Earth?"

"I know; it's the weirdest thing. Ages and ages of wind and water and it looks like Africa or the Middle East. It's a bit of a walk, but we can make it all the way up in plenty of time."

"You mean you climb them?" he asks.

"Of course!" I park and lock the car and motion to where the trail begins. I take off my shoes and leave them by the dozens of others. Shoes of all sizes and types are parked in a pavilion, showing the multigenerational nature of many family vacations, like mine were. We start down the path and see many vacationers along the way, flying kites, taking Christmas card photos, consoling children, snapping photos of the landscape, or racing up and down the dunes. Eventually we reach the foot of the largest dune which overlooks the ocean. We wade up, it's such a strange feeling to be walking through sand, just tons and tons of sand, and we arrive at the top. I walk a ways and look to the row of oceanfront homes. "There, that's the one we stayed in most often," I point after a minute, seeing a house with distinctive bay windows.

"And where is the one I'm staying at?"

"You can't see it from here, but it's that way." I take out my phone and zoom in for a picture of the house. "I'm going to send this to my mom. She'll like seeing it again."

As I type, Dan moves close behind me. He places his hands gently on my waist, asking "may I?" softly.

"Sure," I answer, pressing send and putting my phone in my dress's pocket. It takes my breath away a little as he wraps his arms around my torso, crossing them in the middle and resting his hands on opposite sides of my waist. I feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric of my dress and relax, leaning against his chest and letting my feet sink into the soft sand.

We stand like this until the sun dips below the horizon, and I sigh happily and comfortably. He untangles his arms from around me and I turn to see his smile. I smile back, and mischievously say, "This isn't the best part yet, though."

"What is the best part?"

"Going back down," I say, starting to run the way we'd come. Carefully searching for a course with no intervening small children, I leap down the dune with giant steps and run a ways at the bottom with all the momentum. I turn and see Dan still hesitating at the top, and I call, "Come on!"

He attempts to do the same thing as I did, but halfway down he trips and rolls the rest of the way. I contain a laugh as I wait for him to show he's okay, and let it out as soon as he bounds up unscathed. He spots me and jogs over a little sheepishly.

"Told you I was a fail," he says.

"No, you did it the better way. I did it the 'I'm-wearing-a-dress' way. You have to roll down at least once in a lifetime."

He adjusts his hair, which is rather unkempt from the fall. "Okay, it was pretty fun."

My phone buzzes; it's a reply from my mother. "Mother says, 'Did you show your friends the ridge? Have a good trip honey.' I'm writing back, 'Yes it is a beautiful night lots of love.'"

"That's so sweet," he says. "You're adorable."

By this time we've reached the parking lot and gathering our shoes, we return to the car amidst the exodus of everyone who was on the ridge that evening. I brush most of the sand off my legs and get in the car and Dan attempts to do the same so as not to track the whole beach into the car but realizes his cuffs and collar are filled with sand. He unbuttons his shirt, takes it off and shakes it out, and puts it back on. Then he gets in, leaving it unbuttoned.

On the way back (just a few minutes' drive), we sit in a comfortable silence. I prefer not to talk and drive, and as I glance over, he's on his phone. "I'm checking the weather," he says, "and it looks like it's going to rain tomorrow but be sunny the rest of the week."

"There's always one rainy day in a beach week," I say, "but that's the shopping and ice cream day. You need at one of those for a complete vacation."

We turn into the neighborhood. The next thing he says surprises me. "Can I put a picture of you on my Instagram?"

"You took a picture of me? Let me see it," I say, parking the car and leaning over. It's a picture of me looking out in the distance, smiling, and pulling my hair behind my ear with the ocean-scape in the background.

"I like that one," I say, "even though you took it without me knowing."

"I like it too," he says. "You look happy."

"I am happy," I reply. "Post away."

He puts his phone away after a moment and we get out of the car. I lock it and walk a few steps towards the house; Dan joins me. "Thank you," I say simply.

"You're most welcome," he says. He pulls my hand to have me face him, and puts his hands on my waist. "May I?" he asks again. In the dusk, I see him bite his lip a little.

"No," I reply in the same tone of voice I had used earlier, and his face falls and he quickly takes a step back.

"I'm kidding," I say, letting a giggle escape, "and I know I just ruined the moment, but I couldn't resist. Yes of course."

"Oh you…" he says, smiling and running his hand through his hair. I take a step towards him and he puts his hands at my waist a little less gently than before and pulls me towards him. With my hands flat on his chest, I stand on my tiptoes and he presses his lips to mine for a moment. He smells of sand and saltwater and sunscreen. I lower myself onto flat feet and sigh deeply, drinking in the moment. It was sweet, it was charming, it was summer, it was perfect.

"Me what?" I say innocently.

He releases me and we step apart. "Are you even a real person?" he asks. "You're too cute to be true."

"Thanks, I think." I reply.

"Tomorrow same time?"

I nod and walk up our front stairs. Before I open the door, I look over the balcony and see Dan looking up at me. He gives me a salute and I wave and then turn inside.

The gang is in the middle of playing a card game, or at least it looks like it until Deanna bursts out, "We are not going to pretend we didn't see that, Katrin!" I blush, and she continues, "You know I'm teasing, you deserve to have some fun, it's just you're so darling I can't resist!"

"Okay…can I join in what you're playing once you start a new round or whatever?" I'm never one to turn down a table game.

"Where were we even?" asks Greg. "Dean told us to be quiet while she was snooping and then I lost track of whose play it was."

"Anyone want to switch to Boggle?" I ask. I am the unequivocal champion at this game among our friend group; thus, people usually don't want to play me. "I'll take a handicap, you guys decide what it is: points or time or something else," I offer, grabbing the game from the coffee table and pulling up a chair.

"You tell us one thing about your date after every round you win, and you start ten seconds later than we do," suggests Michelle.

"Okay," I sigh, "but only because it's vacation and you are wonderful people."

Half a dozen rounds later and exactly as many dishes on my date, my phone buzzes with a text message. It reads, "what's your Instagram can I tag you?" I reply affirmatively with my .

"I vote something less intellectual," says Michelle. "Shall we play that one where you can't say the word but you have to make someone guess it?" Someone had brought that particular game gadget and we sit in a circle on the floor and play until we are tired of laughing at how Deanna talks with her hands and almost hits the Jin next to her, or how Paul keeps accidentally saying the word that's supposed to be guessed. We didn't bother to keep score of any kind, but the unofficial verdict is a tie between me and Greg.

"Okay," says Paul, "I have a question for everyone before we turn in. What's your summer jam this year?" He names a country song I'm not familiar with, I choose "Fancy," Deanna chooses a Katy Perry hit, Paul simply says "Dubstep," Jin jokes, "Never gonna give you up," and Michelle prefers "Rather Be."

"I like that one too, Michelle," Deanna adds. "Have you seen the BBC something karaoke video where they get BBC people to sing it?" When Michelle shakes her head no, Deanna pulls it up on her tablet and says, "Here let's quick watch it." I don't say anything as we all come behind her as she plays it.

I hold my breath at about a minute and a half in when Dan's spot comes up. "Wait, wait, pause that," says Michelle. "That's totally Katrin's person from next door." Deanna rewinds it and plays the segment over again.

"She's not saying anything…" says Deanna in a sing-song voice. "So it must be him!"

The boys have left us to this conversation and Michelle glances at the screen and at me. "So BBC Radio 1 guy is here at this beach because…"

"Vacationing with American friends," I say. "And his name is Dan."

"As before," says Deanna, as she closes the tablet and stands up, "have yourself the time of your life, which I repeat again because he is super cute, but be careful and don't let yourself get hurt."

I nod in assent. "You guys look out for me so well."


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days are beautiful-though we have our rainy day like the forecast promised, and the girls and I go shopping and get ice cream, just as I envisioned-it is the experience of doing exactly, completely, and only what I want to that makes it 24/7 gorgeous. I spend early mornings with Dan and days with my friends, sometimes meeting up with Dan and the neighbors on the beach or sitting on the porch with him in the evening, talking about anything and everything.

I decide not to watch any of Dan's YouTube videos that week or in the future, despite his evident popularity. Unlike everyone on the internet, I have the real Dan right in front of me and heard some of his stories live and unedited. That is the memory I want to keep, not the image, realistic and honest though it may be, he projects in the media.

Friday night is the last night of our vacation. When Dan asks me what I want to do, I realize that I haven't played miniature golf yet. Even though by the name it seems more appropriate for children (in all honesty, it probably is) I fondly remember it from years past. It might be less impressive now that I'm grown up, but I have to do it while we're here. Dan is game and I have a feeling it will be a good time thanks to his sense of humor and silly side I've seen come out here and there during the week.

First we have dinner at my house (it was my turn to cook for everyone). Dan easily fits into our group of friends and the conversation is light and lively. Afterwards I borrow Deanna's car again and we go to an early-1900's mining expedition themed miniature golf place. It is even more fun than I was expecting, as I overthink the geometry of each shot and Dan just goes for it, almost without looking (we each tease each other a bit for our opposite styles). On the final hole, I get a hole-in-one and squee for a moment. When I finish, I see Dan just looking at me with a small smile.

"What are you looking at?" I say, putting my hands on my hips.

"That was just adorable." He steps forward and puts his arms around me, and right there, on the eighteenth hole green, he kisses me sweetly and gently. When we separate and are looking into each other's eyes, I hear a group of teens behind us and realize we're very much in their way. Quickly I pick my golf ball out of the hole and Dan puts his arm around my waist as we return our equipment.

As before, in the car on the way home, Dan checks his phone. "So the internet is wondering who you are after the Instagram photo from Monday," he says tentatively. "Any thoughts?"

"I'd prefer that you don't address it, I guess. In a little while they'll leave it go."

He nods. "I'll do that."

After I park and lock the car in the driveway, Dan leads me by the hand to the beach entrance and down the wooden stairs. In the darkness we stand there together. He's the first one to speak. "If you are ever in Europe, my door is always open. Next time I'm in America I'll let you know and you can take it from there."

"Thank you. For the invitation and for everything."

"This is the best vacation I think I've ever had."

"It's my best in a long time."

We stand on the beach, hand in hand, for a while, listening to the ocean and looking at the stars. "I should really go pack," I say reluctantly, "and probably so should you."

"I suppose so. I just don't want it to end." After a moment, he continues, "I probably shouldn't have said that, because it's going to end whether we like it or not, and I don't want you to feel unhappy. Ever. You're just so pretty when you're happy."

"It's not goodbye, it's so long," I say, remembering a line I'd heard somewhere.

Walking up the stairs and across the street to my driveway, he hugs me tightly. "So long, then, Katrin," he whispers.

"So long, Dan," I reply.

We step apart and I walk up the steps, pausing at the top to watch him until he enters his own house.

From the beginning I knew that our relationship was something I knew I could never keep, but it was a beautiful gift to have for a week. So when we depart the next morning and many times in the future, I remember the hellos and hugs and kisses instead of the goodbyes and find no need to be sad.


	6. Chapter 6

The next week consists of me packing up all of my earthly belongings, including the last of the things I've been storing at my parents' home. I also see two high school friends who also happen to be in the area and we reminisce as well as share our plans for the future. One's headed to graduate school; the other, to an engineering firm. I don't know how or when exactly it happened, but we've grown up.

It's a few days' trip for me to drive to the Northeast with everything I could possibly fit in my car; the rest of the things I absolutely need are being shipped. It is exciting yet surreal as I hug my parents in the driveway, promising to keep in touch. I set my new address as the destination on Google Maps and drive out of the neighborhood to start the next chapter of my life.

In September I learn that my parents are relocating Christmas to Germany this year, at my father's sister's home. Even as a new employee, I manage to get enough days off that I can join them. My parents' gift to me (because I really don't have enough room in my closet or apartment for more things) is the airfare. But the first thing that crosses my mind when my mom calls me with this holiday plan update is Dan's invitation. Do I want to see him? Instantaneously the answer is yes. Will I get to see him? I look at a calendar. Because of the day of the week on which Christmas falls, I could potentially spend an extra day and a half in London. Conveniently, airfare is less expensive if I stay the additional time, which will be tantalizing to my Dad if I just say I can stay with a friend.

Provided that friend agrees. I contact Dan for the first time in a month-we'd exchanged text messages, commented on each other's Instagram photos, and I'd watched his radio shows when I could, but not in the recent past. I look at the date and realize that I'd be spending New Year's Eve-maybe he has something going on with family or friends?-but I contact him anyway. No harm in asking, after all. Once I send the message I realize it's 3am in the UK, but within a few minutes Dan replies. "of course my offer still stands come and visit meeee!"

Promising a more precise itinerary in the near future, I make the plane reservations and start counting the days until December 30th (well, actually the 23rd, which is the day I leave for Europe, because it's sooner). Before I know it, because my job and settling in to independent living and working life keeps me occupied, I'm boarding my plane to London for the first time, from where I'll immediately go to Germany. Although I'm excited to see family members I haven't seen in years and celebrate my favorite holiday, I'm a little nervous about speaking German again after such a long time of disuse, but it comes right back and I feel at home among my family and the Christmas season the minute I walk through the door of my aunt and uncle's home. Some cousins and their families are here from other parts of the country with the promise of seeing the rest of those within driving distance tomorrow.

After only a few minutes my grueling hours of travel get to me and I promise to reenter their company much more cogent after I rest for a little while. After a long nap (or is it a short night's sleep?) I catch up with everyone, hear what's going on in each person's life and career, and eat all sorts of holiday specialties I hadn't had since my grandmother passed.

The next day, Christmas Eve, we all go to a candlelight service at a beautiful old church. I had been looking forwards to this all week: hearing the spoken words in German and the songs I know best in English sung in the same. At the end, we sing Silent Night as each person lights his neighbor's candle and the light spreads throughout the sanctuary. I listen to my mother singing descant on one side of me and my dad on the other, gamely reaching for the tenor notes that were best suited to a few decades ago, and I start to cry. Mother pats my shoulder, and I know she's hoping I'm feeling moved to become religious, but it is the feeling of happiness and family and tradition that makes me emotional.

"Merry Christmas, Mother," I say after blowing out my candle.

"_Frohe Wiehnachten_," she says, lovingly but with a tiny bit of correcting me for greeting her in English, and we exit the pew to drive back to my aunt and uncle's for gift-opening.

I have always made tree ornaments as my gift for everyone, and this year I made quilled-paper angels and bells. Fortunately, they all arrived intact from the intercontinental trip. I also put together a slideshow of family photos I'd found and scanned at my parents' house over the summer as I was cleaning out the last of my belongings. I play it once present-opening is over, and we reminisce about how everyone looked so young, the departed Nana and Opa, and most vividly, the beach vacations.

"Katrin went back last summer with college friends and the house we stayed in is still around," Mother says. "She sent me a picture from the ridge." I disconnect my laptop from the television and search for the photo in my folder of "beach summer 14" images. I end up going through most of the pictures for a few relatives lingering after the slideshow, relating what I did that was the same as we all did many years ago. I get to pictures Jin took one day at the beach and there's one of Dan and me sitting in beach chairs, with our hair looking terrible but the most relaxed and contented smiles on our faces. Then the next one is of us in the water with my arms around Dan's neck and my legs around his waist, so I quickly flip ahead to the next one: it's Deanna reading a book on the beach in a brightly-colored wide-brimmed hat.

"Go back one, Katrin," Mother says. I go back two. "I don't recognize that young man, is that a college friend?"

"That's just Dan," I say evasively, "that's who I'm staying with on my way back through London."

"Well…" my cousin Paula interjects, "_just_ Dan, is this?"

She moves ahead to the picture after the one of Deanna, a candid I forgot Jin took, from the late afternoon when we were readying to go, it's me sitting in between Dan's legs with him holding me and resting his chin on my shoulder. Lovely. She is not as willing to back off with the teasing as Michelle and Deanna were, and continues, "Had a bit of fun on vacation, did we Katrin?"

"We all sure did," I reply with a positive tone of voice, not wanting to say any harsh words and hoping to defuse the situation. I firmly take back my laptop and close it. Mother thankfully doesn't press the issue and I wish everyone a Happy Christmas and excuse myself. I walk upstairs, where I'm sleeping on an air mattress in a spare room where my young nieces are already asleep in the double bed. After I change but before I drift off, I check my phone in the dark. I have two messages: "happy christmas katrin, all the best to you and yours," and a few minutes after "not that i'm counting but five more days till you're here." "frohe wiehnachten you mean and see you soon Dan" I reply before shutting off my phone and shutting my eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

I awake on the 25th to a dusting of snow and my nieces putting on their Christmas dresses. I'd brought a red sweater dress and don that, hoping my aunt has a spare apron I can borrow, as I expect to help out with preparing the meal, if only to keep Mother from trying to pitch in. She'd hosted Christmas Day dinner for as many years as I can remember, and she deserves a year of being a relaxed guest.

My task is to cut fresh vegetables and make a sour cream dip, which I do happily while talking with my aunt about my apartment and the perks (and trials) of living alone. As there's a lull in the conversation, she says, "Barbara" (Mother) "doesn't know about Dan, does she?"

"We're not a thing, really. It was just that one week. We've kept in touch here and there but I haven't seen him since. But," I add dramatically, "I'm staying with him on my way back through London, which I'm way too excited about."

"You said. Well, that should be nice. Your mother will never say this, so I will: make good choices, dear, because you've got such a bright future."

"Thank you. You're right, Mother has her head under her wing about these things." We laugh together. Everyone in my family truly cares about each other-I love that about us, we pick up just where we left off, as evidenced by laughter and spirited conversation at the several tables set up throughout the house. Our holiday is thoroughly documented by my photographer brother, including pictures of everyone in their Christmas-cracker paper crowns and toasting with sparkling apple cider.

During the following days, I play with my young nieces and cousins' children, see the Christmas decorations in the town they live in, play someone's new video game, and take the train to a famous Christmas market one day. Of course I exchange more messages with Dan, planning when and where he will pick me up at the airport. The day comes for when I say farewell to my family and Germany, and I spend most of the 30th traveling from my aunt's to London, arriving in the evening.

Dan and I had agreed to meet in baggage claim and I figure I'll go and look for him once I claim my luggage, but as I wait at the carousel, studying each suitcase that comes by, I hear "Hey Katrin" from quite close behind me and I jump a little and squeak, but within a split second turn around and see Dan right there. "Dan!" I exclaim, and as he embraces me tightly, my first few words come out in German, as I've spoken little English for the past week. I quickly correct myself, "You startled me but I'm happy to see you, I mean!" He releases me and I spy my suitcase rounding the corner of the carousel. "One second," I leave him standing by my backpack and wheel my suitcase over in a moment. "I can't believe I'm here!" I say.

"You are here, let me assure you, and I couldn't be happier to see you." he replies. I go to put on my backpack, but he takes it from me and carries it himself. "This is really heavy, what do you have in here?" he complains. "No, let me guess. Books."

"You got it," I reply. "Light reading as always."

We exit the airport and Dan shows me to a waiting cab. After he places my luggage in the trunk, he gets in, gives the driver an address, and says to me, "I thought we'd just go to my place since it's kind of late."

"Fine with me," I say.

"How was Christmas?" he asks after a moment.

"Very German," I answer, "and very lovely. How was yours?"

"Very family," he says, "and just okay, I guess." He pulls out his wallet. "I have a Christmas thing for you."

"Aw, you didn't have to," I say, but I am excited to see what he got me.

"It's a little tangled from being in here," he says, extracting a chain and pendant from his wallet, "but this is yours."

It is a little silver triangle-clam-thing necklace. I smile at him. "Thank you, this is perfect. You must have searched hard for this!" I put it on.

"I wanted to get you a creature," Dan said, "but I don't think they'd let you through immigration with a tank of seawater. This was the next best thing."

We laugh and pick up just where we left off. I ask him how his new flat is-he'd mentioned it on a recent radio show-and he is flattered to learn that I've watched the video version often. "You have time for that? I am imagining you so busy at work, especially compared to me who manages to spend full days on tumblr and the Xbox."

"I have time, although being gainfully employed still feels weird. It's not like college, in that you come home at nights without homework and I have to go to bed early to get up in time for work. It's a little lonely, living by myself, but I like my coworkers and the checkout folks at the public library."

"Making friends takes time," he reassures me. I talk about my new apartment and the oddities of being in a rather vintage building, and shortly we've arrived at his building. We enter the flat and I'm impressed at how neat it is. Come to think of it, from what I know about him Dan probably runs a rather tight ship, especially since he's got the place to himself. He carries my suitcase to a spare bedroom, nicely made up for my stay, and I flop down on the bed. "Ready to sleep already?" he asks.

"No, it just feels later than it is. Traveling and such, maybe."

Dan offers to put on an episode of a television show he's catching up on. We sit in his living room and I stretch out on the couch. The gain of a few hours leaves me tired and I come close to dozing off, snuggled next to him, as the episode comes to an end.

"You awake?" he asks.

"Yes," I whisper.

"I forgot to tell you, I'm having six or so friends over tomorrow night for New Year's Eve, I hope you're comfortable with that."

"Can't wait," I say drowsily but sincerely.

"You'd better rest up, then, if you feel so enthusiastic." I had taken my hair out of its French braid-which had actually earned my hair a pat-down inspection at airport security earlier today-and Dan plays with it as I rest against him. "Your hair got so long since this summer, it is really pretty."

"I need to shower though," I say with a little bit of a whine.

"Come on, I'll show you where it is." I effortfully leave my comfortable position on the couch and enter the hallway. After he motions to the correct door, he adds, "Come say goodnight before you turn in, okay?"

I nod assent. After a relaxing shower and changing into my pyjamas, I approach Dan's half-open bedroom door. Knocking on the doorframe, I call, "goodnight, Dan."

"That's not good enough, come in here." He's on his bed in what appears to be an extremely uncomfortable slouched position with his computer on his lap. When I enter he puts the laptop to the side and stands up. "You have to give me a goodnight kiss in exchange for me letting you stay here."

"Okay," I roll my eyes and cross my arms.

He lazily puts his arms over my shoulders and bends down towards me. I uncross my arms and lay my hands on his chest. His kiss is full of longing and I realize he might have missed me more than I'd thought. When I remember that I have been counting the days until this moment since September, I decide to go all out and press myself up against him at the same time as he deepens the kiss. Soon I pull back for breath and see him smiling down at me. He smiles in the opposite direction as his hair falls across his face, I'd never noticed that before and it's charming. I reach up and brush his hair out of his eyes and he releases me. "That's better."

"Now can I go to bed?" I ask.

"Yes," he says. "If you need anything you know where I am and I'll probably be up for a while yet. Help yourself to breakfast things if you're up before me.

"Goodnight, Dan," I say as I exit.

"'Night Katrin," he returns and I pull his door back to half-closed.


	8. Chapter 8

New Year's Eve isn't a particularly meaningful holiday for me, especially compared to Christmas. For many years, my family would go to Florida and have a quiet night in the condo, watching Dick Clark's (or now Ryan Seacrest's) Rockin' New Year's Eve. I never went to a party or felt it particularly important to commemorate the passing of yet another year except for one year where I made a resolution, which I've still kept, to read the news each day. But here at Dan's I'm ecstatic to do anything that involves spending time with him, especially the get-together he's hosting tonight.

It turns out he is woefully unprepared for entertaining. Although he's designated some items for his guests to bring, he needs appetizer food and snacks and (as I'd already discovered this morning), milk. As we are at the shop getting food, I realize that it's 7pm. "Happy New Year!" I burst out.

"No?" Dan says. "It's not even dark out."

"Eastern standard time," I say. "That counts for something."

"You have to wait until midnight local time, at least by my rules."

"Okay," I pout.

We return to the flat and lay out the food along with glasses. To have enough for everyone, some are mismatched, but at least we don't have to resort to coffee mugs. His friends trickle in from 8 to 10 pm and I meet all of them in turn. They are very welcoming and seem to know quite a bit about me-Dan must have talked about me often, I infer. I hear about their pursuits, mostly in media, and I feel oddly out of place as a scientist. In my life this has been a rarity as I've typically been surrounded by those pursuing and maintaining technical or business careers among family, friends, and colleagues.

Dan finds me again at 11 or so near the kitchen door and asks me if I want a drink when I follow him in.

"No thanks, I don't," I reply.

"Well, we have things other than alcohol, Katrin, like…" he moves a few bottles around, "soda, seltzer, orange juice…"

"I'll have orange juice, thanks."

He pours me a champagne flute of orange juice and takes a beer for himself.

"Dan?" I ask. "This is a silly thing, but can I ask you to not drink too much? It would make me more comfortable."

"Oh, yes, okay," he says, a little taken aback but not inconvenienced. "After this I'll switch to OJ."

He finds me at the window at a few minutes to midnight, gazing at the cityscape. As promised, he has a glass of orange juice like I do. In the last half hour it's earned me some questioning looks by those several drinks deep, but I've laughed it off as I did through the few college party-things I'd attended. Someone's looking at an official clock their phone and starts to count down from thirty.

"Bye 2014," I say, "it's been real. I graduated, I started work, and I met you." I look at Dan.

I'm wearing the necklace he gave me and he plays with it for a moment, leaning close. "I moved, I got a promotion, and I met you," he says.

As cheers erupt behind us, I take a step back and offer my glass. "Cheers and happy new year!" We toast and take a drink of our orange juice.

"I never thought I'd ring in a new year with orange juice," he says with a smile. "2015 has started well. But," he says, as he takes my glass and puts it on a nearby table along with his, "I think it can start even better."

I put my arms around his neck and say, "You don't even need to ask. Yes."

As our lips softly connect I can feel that Dan is smiling, and I smile too. After a moment we separate and he eases me down onto the couch right behind us, my arms still around his neck.

"This is my first midnight kiss," I say. "And I'm so glad it's you."

He places his hands on the sides of my face and wordlessly brings me in for another kiss. This one isn't like the ones we'd shared before; it's more intense, and at the same time, playful. I don't think we'd have stopped anytime soon if someone hadn't whistled and caused us to quickly break apart and release each other.

"So this is not 'just Katrin,' is it Dan," someone teases him.

Dan ignores him. "I know we probably won't see each other again after tonight," he says softly, "but can we pretend again that it's not true?"

"Yes," I whisper, and I move closer to him and rest my back against his chest; he wraps his arms around me. "I'm just not going to sleep. I have a stupid 7am flight, why should I sleep?"

Everyone is still looking at us. "Carry on, folks," Dan says rather loudly, and they more or less comply.

"Did you know that you can sing Auld Lang Syne to the tune of Amazing Grace and vice versa?" I ask, cuddling close to him.

"No kidding." He tries a few bars of each to confirm my claim. "That is going to be my new year's tweet, if I can steal it."

"Go ahead," I allow. I move over an inch so he can reach into his pocket for his phone and he takes a minute to post the message.

"I want to take a photo of this orange juice toast too. I know it seems like I'm addicted to posting everything, but I do have a lot of followers on social media and I like to include them in the best and weirdest things I do," he explains. I hold up my glass and hand him his, and he also posts this one after taking the snapshot.

"What shall we do for the rest of the evening? The night is young!" He puts his glass back down, and after emptying mine, so do I.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, leaning back into my previous position. "Stay exactly like this."

One of his friends suggests that we put on the New Year's episode of a television show I haven't heard of, and the group approves. It's both action-packed and funny, and I pay attention to it off and on, mostly just relishing being so close to Dan. One friend captures some video footage for a vlog, and I get a special mention and sort of interview as an international guest and the only one present who hasn't extensively featured in her life story so far. I talk about a few things "different in America" and they have me pronounce some words known to be different between the continents. Everyone has been responsible enough to get themselves safely on their way home by 3am or so.

"Can you do whatever you do to get a cab for when I have to leave?" I ask reluctantly.

"I'm coming too to see you off," he says, "and I'll take care of it."

I collect the glasses and plates scattered around and put them in the dishwasher. "You really don't have to," he tells me.

"It's kind of what I do," I said, "It may sound crazy but I like doing dishes, and I get the sense you like your place to be tidy, so this is helping everyone involved." He lets me finish and puts away the leftover food.

When the kitchen is back to normal, I go to the spare room to change into comfortable travel clothes and collect my belongings.

"Bye, Dan's house," I say, waving to the living room. He's called for a taxi and it meets us outside the building. Fatigue is setting in, but I make the best of it as the driver wends through the streets populated by drivers and pedestrians of questionable sobriety. I lean against Dan and he sets his chin on the top of my head. "This year," I say slowly, "I predict that I will get a cat, my parents will decide to move back to Germany, I will go to two weddings of college friends, and my brother will finally admit that a certain lady is his girlfriend."

"Do you always predict your next years?"

"I try, but I forget what I plan and it all ends up how it's meant to be regardless."

"I have no idea what will happen, every year recently has been a surprise for me."

"That's a good thing. I'm a planner, it's both good and bad. But the best things can happen without a plan." I think of our meeting at the beach six months ago, and I get the sense he's thinking of the same serendipity that has brought us so much happiness.

We reach the airport soon enough-too soon almost. Dan helps me out of the cab and rolls my suitcase inside for me, where I check in and relinquish my luggage. He takes my hand as we walk through the public area of the airport, which here at 4am is very deserted.

"You have great friends," I say.

"It's an accomplishment that I have any."

"I feel the same way too sometimes. But hey-you take what you can get!"

I realize we are at the end of the road for Dan, as anywhere beyond here is restricted. Before I enter the security checkpoint line, Dan takes a deep breath and says one last thing to me. "Katrin, this is hard to say, but I owe it to you and myself. I want you to live your life. Find someone who makes you happy. You have an amazing career and I know you'll go far. I'll always remember you and all I can hope is that you'll remember me."

I understand completely and am glad he's put it into words. "Thank you, Dan," I say. "There's no way I could ever forget you. Good luck, good skill, and lots of love." That's how I sign cards and it seems appropriate for the situation, although that might just be 4am me talking. We hug again and I join the line. He waves to me and before turning to go, gives me a salute. I blow him a kiss and turn my attention to the journey ahead.

All the hoops I have to jump through to exit the country are a blur and I get some food to eat while I wait at the gate. Soon enough we're called to board and I find my window seat next to a businessman I foresee will be a quiet neighbor for the flight home.

As I'm asked to put my device in airplane mode, I think to quickly check Instagram and see Dan's photo of our toast. "happy new year to a beautiful lady," the caption reads "and cheers to a 2015 as unforgettable as her and tonight." I tap the airplane icon and lean back in my seat. I realize I'm crying, and it would ordinarily be from the fatigue of an all-nighter and the stress of traveling, but I know it's the emotion of leaving the person I know I could love more than anything if our lives had let us, and who I know let me go because, in a heartbeat, he'd love me back.


End file.
